"pudgy" poems
large, and in charge as I'd like to put it.
chunky, pudgy, fat, plump
however you'd like to say it, however
it is none of your **** business.
I am not a number on a scale
or a mile that I haven't run
I am not the size of my waist
or the "excuses" that have lead me to "let myself go"
But I, am human.
Say what you will
but I love myself.
blonde hair, blue eyes
a sense of humor that can't me measured with something so feeble as measuring tape.
A love of life that will not be put to rest just because I may need to take a rest every so often.
How do you measure happiness?
not on a scale
or with inches
pounds or calories that seem to sneak up on you in the middle of the night and make your pants a bit too snug
we judge people for judging people because judging people is wrong
we blame society for our corrupt nature,
but we are society.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Three orange lights
waiting in a cue.
Warm, pudgy and sweating.
Squeezing the last drop
of pure sweetener
down your throat.
Delicious syrup
growing and spreading
on the finger tips.
Feeding the eager.
Melting bright nectar
dropping down the thighs.
Saliva sprinkels
on the piano lips.
Playing chants
of lust and thirst.
Lavish liberation
buzzing for more bees.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
What She Look Like?
…Like one
tenderly hushing
water in her lap
Elemental peace
No place to go
No more to be
…Like the ocean
in the background
of a photo on a warm spring day
belying
rage
and the random possible
thrash--
out!
at all guilty ******** in her path
Toss in the next sentient soul
who should happen to pass
within range
who should have seen
who should have known
what a storm could do….
Moody in the aftermath
and sorrier than rain
With the tide in retreat
grumbling excuses
Hiding out waist-deep in dusk’s Merlot
Waiting for night to sleep it off
to heal the rifts
cleanse the shame
Rising
yellow, bright— and
“What the hell happened, here?!”
_______________
Her hair
a winter’s tragedy of trees
upside down—
No wait— the wind has put her right
to ragged random branches
swaying, wet with intermittent hues
of dark and silver
caught in collar, flying inelegant and free
at the shoulders of the levee
tossed and softening shyly
sagging jaw and nose a stump of tree
All perspective changes…
if you watch a while—
She’ll raise her eyes
into the sunset
to catch an eagle
entering
flight
…and then you might…
______________
She looks like—
a pudgy robin
querying grass
mud soaked
that hides the fire of her breast
tugging at a worm
more than half her length
“I will feed them, **** you!
Give it up, you son of a snake!”
_______________
...Don’t miss her hour of music though
for anything
Encroaching darkness
from the rooftops
she listens to the hearts she breaks
Remember this in winter
she can give but she will take
it out on February
when you’re longing
for her
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
Chocolate ice cream running
down my pudgy chin
licking it up quickly
like it's liquid sin
This sweet stuff really makes me
do a little dance
but my *** is spreading
in my yoga pants
I'm gonna have to stop it
and put it down for good
even though I hate to
I know I really should
I'll eat it in the morning
and then again at night
it's no ****** wonder
my pants are getting tight
I could pray to God in heaven
make a wish upon the moon
or stop being so lazy
and just put down the spoon
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
We’d sit on the back porch
On the Fourth of July
Spitting watermelon seeds
Into the tall grass,
Which glimmered in the midday sun.
The competition of who could spit the farthest
Never really with a winner,
It was mostly about the feeling of the sun,
Glimmering on our pudgy cheeks,
And the opportunity to abandon our napkins,
Letting that cool watery juice spill
Down our white shirts, leaving pink stains
And permanent reminders of summer
Of course a tattoo is only as permanent
As the body that wears it:
I outgrew the shirts around the same time
As the world outgrew those little black seeds
This year on the Fourth of July
We sat inside making small talk
Because there weren’t any black seeds
In the watermelon we ate:
Just dehydrated flesh, the color a little
Farther from pink and closer
To the off-white color of those flakey little seeds,
Which were miraculously allowed to remain
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
She hates that she is a woman
The putrefying weakness perceived in the curves of her body
The naivete shown in her blues
With the unintentional flutter of butterfly lashes
That refuse to meet the glances of those that pass by
The fear-- Of what?
That stereotypes are true?
She doesn't even know
And it sickens her.
She sickens herself.
She hates that she is white
The blandest vanilla
The marble statue
Somehow revered
Worshiped
Privileged
But simultaneously overlooked
Boring
Unimportant
The Caucasian mongrel
In light of the fact that her People
Have no proud history
Which she can name herself heir to
She hates that she is middle class
Not poor enough to struggle
Not rich enough to be free
Just situated dully in the middle
A footnote in the statistic
That they tell her she must use
To identify herself
She hates that her belief system
Has to be called by a name
That she has to choose
To be a part of a group
As part of her "identity"
And she is not allowed
To stand by her own integrity
She hates that she is American
The pudgy, loud-mouthed, laterally-speaking nation
The brashly jumps into conflict
Guns blazing
As its political system decays
In the stench of its overwhelming debt and corruption
But in truth
She hates
That they force her
To whittle her essence down
Into Gender, Race, Class, Religion, and Nationality
A vomit-inducing statistic
As if there was nothing more to her
Than the facts surrounding her existence
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.
Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood's TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.
Too fat to *****
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion.
'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'
6.5k
you were quiet and i was loud, talkative
you asked to borrow a pencil so i gave you the one with the hellokitty stickers on it just to see you smile
you gave it back with a note and i read in my car in the parking lot after class
it said that you thought my hands were beautiful, but i always thought that they were too small and definitely too pudgy and said so underneath the scrawl of hellokitty’s graphite. oh, and thanks
when i gave it back, you looked confused and turned the scrap over to show me the name on the front and it wasn’t mine
that same day someone slashed the tires on your honda accord
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
I can cry;
the glorious moon cheats
the dazzling sun wanes
the cloudy sky smirks
the pudgy earth refrains
I can cry;
the man in the sidewalk eats
the woman in bus denies
the children on the playground smell
the puppy on the stairway bites
I can cry;
the riddles in the book defy
the maze and mouse are a lie
the gun for a bullet doesn’t shoot
the whistle in my palm doesn’t hoot.
I can cry;
the thoughts in my head lead astray
the senses of my body can delay
the questions I answered gave away
the answers I’ve forgotten are a mistake.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Dusk!
With a creepy, tingling sensation you hear the fluttering of leathery wings!
Bats!
Glowing red eyes and glistening fangs,
These unspeakable giant bugs drop into view.*
Fibrous wings furred like a moth,
Big ears are just a membranous extension of antennae.
Flying in search of a flower’s pollen laden froth,
Silent except for the hum and squeak of echolocation.
Trap bats in attics, butterflies in nets.
No rabies feared, no bedbug bites to itch.
Clawed feet ****** and grab like praying mantis pincers;
Bloated stomach slopes like a pudgy beetle.
Jaws manipulate like an ant, excise like scissors;
Soft hair rustles like a wooly caterpillar.
They live in darkness, centipedes do too,
Come out at night like cockroaches tend to.
Skittering through the night like daddy long-legs,
Noses snubbed like bumble bee faces.
Wind turbines endanger bats,
Like fans endanger lightning bugs.
Only one percent of bats are vampiric,
Like only a small percentage of spiders are poisonous.
Dawn!
With a creepy, tingling sensation you hear the fluttering of leathery wings!
Bats!
Bats are bugs, aren’t they?
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
the priest, whose tomato face looked like it might explode under collar tension,
gave the valedictory at the friday night execution
the yellow-toothed, combover'd serial killer buckled in electric chair
kept staring at the door, expecting an ally to crawl in late but not too late
the mother of one of the victims rattled on about
how she didn't care that the killer had an allergy to the anesthetic used
in lethal injection he's going to die either way what's it matter?
buzz of fly crack of rolled program against empty folding chair
(yes, there were programs, and whoever laid them out knew their typography)
buzz of fly raised upward, toward the black, magma-cooled ceiling
audience chin up, pupils circled fly as the priest droned on
about everlasting life like a Paul Simon song from his youth
like a catcher's mitt from his youth like a youth from his youth
the boyfriend of one of the mothers of one of the victims
said he was hungry pancakes sound good, don't they?
I love it when syrup gets on the bacon, you know? love that.
a pudgy guard with bleary eyes and 12 a.m. shadow
rolled his index finger lowered his brow, telling the
priest to wrap it up so the priest wrapped it up
by reading the names of the victims
Tara Barnes, 17, Rachel Lythe, 10, Julie McPherson, 13,
Serenity Strongman, 15, and Mary Beth Williamson, 13
the priest said something about judgement as
the boyfriend of the mother of one of the victims
took another swat at the fly missed
any last words? the priest asked
where's James? the killer asked, he was supposed to be here
did you guys give him the right time?
the guard nodded to a lab coat by a black box
then a hiss then a hum then an inhale
the first jolt of alternating current for
instantaneous brain death
hard to tell if they succeeded in that
for the second jolt came only a moment
later this shock's aim to fatally damage
the internal organs, overstimulate the heart
and the killer's face looked like a horse's leg
then an exhale then a hum then a hiss
and the killer's face looked like the crinkled
skinmemory of a cicada
it was late most of the best restaurants already closed
but we could go to that diner off 63rd, the boyfriend
of the mother
of one of the victims, said
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
He appears tough, he stands tall.
But truly, underneath it all,
He's sympathetic, vulnerable.
I can't believe myself for being so horrible.
It's true that I love him,
With my heart and soul.
But's it's somewhat-
Overwhelming.
My space I feel is shifting.
I can't tell if it's a good thing.
I want him close, near by.
However, I feel scared inside.
Will he think I'm too lazy?
What if in reality I appear pudgy.
Sure, he says he doesn't mind.
I'll just be his tubby for life.
Which I kinda like,
But still.
These insecurities.
They drown me.
Very slowly,
They're suffocating.
Please God, is it too much to ask for?
Just for once, to enjoy being loved.
I want him to pick me up in an embrace!
For ***** sake, can't I just, take off these weights...
I've hurt him.
I have nothing else to say.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces,
excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter,
ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, ****
"cleaning up ferret excrement":
mid 16th century: from French excrément
or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;
act of defecating;
a contemptible or worthless person;
something worthless; garbage; nonsense;
"this book is **** unpleasant experiences
or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year"
things or stuff, especially personal belongings;
"he left all his **** in my apartment"
events or circumstances;
_"some crazy **** went down last night"_
any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good ****
good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: *****
past tense: ******* past participle: *******
past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat;
past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ********
expel feces from the body,
soiling one's clothes as a result;
expelling feces accidentally; very frightened.
tease or try to deceive someone or thing.
"I **** you not" exclamation
exclamation: ****
[exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance]
Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’ of Germanic origin;
related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb];
_The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;
*********** from Greek κόπρος,
kópros—excrement & φιλία, philía—
liking, fondness, also called scatophilia
or **** [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces],
is the paraphilia involving
****** arousal & pleasure
from specific feces;
meanly, his mother said, _u can drink my ***
but don't eat my **** then she ****
& *** & the boy drank but when
he put the warm **** to his mouth,
she slapped it out of his hand &
yelled, I told u not to eat my ****
& the boy began to cry & feeling
bad his mother turned to let him lick
the bowl & rim the moist wet hole between
her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more
of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade
& chocolate chips, sometimes it was
more like sweet sherbet; but she never
hit him again & he's been eating her ****
ever since; now, his wife lets him drink
her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
We're two feathers from the same bird,
tail and wing.
You can't tell when we're floating together
Which fell first, and which followed
Or even
What happened to the bird.
All we know is that some young thing will grip us in his tiny hands,
Pick us up from the ***** ground
And hold us together in-between two pudgy fingers
Imagining he can fly because of us.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
Skinny.
I want to be skinny.
Skin and bones,
No awkward lumps,
No pudgy cheeks.
Just beauty.
Perfect.
How am supposed to be perfect?
With societies expectations.
No more pain,
No more sorrow.
Just serenity.
Loved.
I just want to be loved.
By someone who cares.
No more loneliness.
No more tears.
Just love.
Unattainable wanting.
The only thing I feel.
Things I can never have.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
I like my headphones for the
Insulation. Sometimes my ears
Take in too much stray noise,
Dredge up too much disorienting
Mud from the depths of a TV
Screen or an iPod. Then I can
Always snuggle into my headphones
And be silent - and silence is a
Dear dear commodity, to be sure,
When every other scene-
Stealing, pudgy-mouthed buffoon
Has to put his ten cents in. So
Much sound should be a sin;
Background music, ambient noise,
Music for airports, and pubescent
Boys screeching from tinny silver
Speakers near the wall. I don't
Want it, not every bit, not all
The hate and the slippery tongues
That speak and salivate and don't
Say anything human. I want to reprimand,
To excommunicate them from
This Holy rite of sound. (And really,
I would be content to never hear
Music if I could block out the roundabout
Fights and the sultry nightlife descriptions
Gushing from my screen, if I could
Use my headphones to keep
That liquid crystal from pouring in
My too needfully silent ears.)
Maybe I'll follow a painter's path:
All visuals and open dripping wet
Wrath with a noisy race. I can be a
Terrifying girl. Cut off my ears and
Be deaf to the world. Wrap me in
Canvas and chase me back into the
Woods on a starry starry night.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
crammed in corrals
hissing whispers of escape
and hoping their
size and shade
captivates
the next sticky-fingered cart rider
mother's mind so mobbed
and arms so grocery-laden
that the ribbed
and loosely coiled ribbon
remains unknotted, unbowed
to slip
from pudgy-fingered grips
the orb bobs and sways–
laughing, helium-high
as it makes its getaway
unknowingly following Icarus
to a solar ******
that is, if beak or plane
doesn't reach it first
POP!
shattered and tattered, irreparable
it plummets back to earth
its noose
still dangling from its neck
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
When you sit atop the clouds.
Will you peek through the glistening white strings of cotton.
To peer upon the shining smiles of the ones that you loved.
Maybe you will avoid their glances to the sky.
Maybe you will avoid them all together, and never watch their eyes, once more.
That even in the cloudy paradise of fluffy cotton candy.
There is pain that seeps into the pores of your fleshy, pudgy being.
Even while surrounded by pure existence.
Those ones still hurt your inside the most.
Not because of what they've done, but because of what you've done.
That after your final shadows has crossed the earth beneath .
You knew that your final bow was the greatest blow you ever dealt the, ones below.
Forever left to faded shadows and corrupted memories.
Signs that were hidden beneath your vague expressions.
Only thing left was the one time you cried out your pain to those below.
A simple ode to those lovely faces, typed out across your Macintosh .
The world through a looking glass
Only shattered for a brief moment before the show came to an end.
A simple message,
I'll watch you from the clouds above.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
I dream of you
And the deep tonality you echo
The sincerity etched to my bone
So that I will never forget the fact
I dream of you
And the pudgy child that came running
Always in the background, always full of wonder
Laughing at things I will never forget
I dream of you
And the sweet nothings you whisper on the dial
The excitement that takes over when I read your letters
The constant reminder of the words I will never forget
I dream of you
And the verbal abuses we bicker back and forth dripped with regret
A cat and mouse chase waiting to fight for the death until one surrenders
Forfeiting the chase I will never forget
I dream of you
And the insecurity of your constant necessity of reassurance
Temporary amnesia you always had towards my own honesty
Forgetting to tell you the words I will never forget
I dream of you
And the opportunities I will never use to convince you
Never will I be able to touch your skin or kiss your lips
I will never forget the last time you said “I love you”.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 6:07 AM UTC
got a lovely tatty on ya left leggy
got no motivation or inspiration
but that *** needs lotsa smackin'
or maybe mine does, red from your hands
bittercress amongst the flowers outdoors
warding dancing birdflit
of people friendly pudgy pigeons
man i hate the birds, the people
singing their arias, their liturgy
feeling like they know somebody
in the canon, me in the sheets listening
to their rumors, trying to break our secret
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
The Sun.
She is Golden
Crying out to me as she dignifies the morning.
Blinding me.
Encasing me in her warm arms.
Comforting my wonders as I stare up into her pudgy round face.
Feeding my thought.
Her smooth touch across my cocoa colored skin,
It makes me just want to watch her,
And lie there forever.
As life happens,
And time passes by.
© 2014 Kendra Bowman
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
Lilac-scented winds
furtively creep through
the window, rhythmically
stroking the lily-white hair
that rests upon her hunched
shoulders.
Thin levees barricade
the emerging seas of salt
as the stationary clouds
dissipate from the
sapphire ice crystals that
encircle her inky
pupils.
Beneath her round,
brittle cheekbones
ancient ravines wind
downwards toward
her steep, narrow
chin, pointing at a
skeletal frame blanketed
in an off-white, floral gown.
Blotchy, autumn, amber
hands cradle the pudgy
infant’s limp body. She
smiles as she presses her
chapped lips on the baby’s
smooth, plastic head.
She leans back in her
chair of solace, rocking
back-and-forth to the
pulsating tempo of her
heartbeat. Her world is
in perfect harmony.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC